Page 84 of Scarred Crown

“Oh,” I say. Is it disappointment or relief I’m feeling? “So which half do I have?”

“I’m taking all the political commitments. You can manage his coronation calendar.”

That’s not a fair division. She’ll end up with far more work than me, at least right now. “Are you sure?”

“Alex knows about the coronation, and Brice was told this morning before you arrived. You told Nick in Tanzania, but the king was speaking to him as soon as you arrived. So, you can start with organizing coronation details, and I’ll keep everything else chugging along.”

I stare at her for an extra beat because there’s something niggling at the back of my brain, and I can’t pinpoint what’s bothering me. “Are you sure? You’ve managed a coronation before. It might be easier for you to take point there.”

“No, no.” She waves me off. “I’ll be here to support you, but otherwise, you might as well learn on the job.”

“Is there something you’re not telling me? I’m getting a weird vibe.”

“Something I’m not telling you? You mean like running off to Vegas to get married, complete with matching tattoos? Nothing like that happening on my end.” She’s teasing, but there’s still an underlying bite to it. As long as she’s occupying my desk, she’ll be straddling her duty to The Crown with being my mother.

A rock and a hard place I’m also wedged into now that I’m Nick’s wife and keeping the king’s health a secret.

“I’ll come see you tomorrow to figure out first steps,” I say.

“Excellent.” Her smile is genuine. “I look forward to putting you to work.”

“Don’t get too comfortable.” I open my office door. “It’s still my name on the door.” I slide my finger underneath the Julia Jensen nameplate.

“I’m just here to ensure a smooth transition, for old time’s sake.” Her smile falls a little. “A personal favor to the king.”

“He’s lucky to have you.” My mom and King George work together like a well-oiled machine, and I’m sure with his illness he’ll be grateful for someone who understands his role and responsibilities sometimes even better than he does.

“If you love Nicholas or if you think you could love him, you need to tell him. Life’s too short not to risk a little heartache.”

I give her a sad smile. “It’s the heartbreak I’m worried about.”

“We’re mortal,” she says. “At some point, we all break. Embrace the joy, Julia. Embrace it with all you’ve got.” Her voice is full of emotion, and she plucks a tissue from the box on her desk. “Now get out of here and work out some path forward with your husband.”

I’m tempted to hug her and give her a chance to let down her tough façade. No doubt hearing the king’s diagnosis rattled her, even if she might have suspected it earlier.

When she waves me off again, I tug the door shut behind me, and I wonder when marital labels get less weird.

Nick is my husband.

Nicholas

Being in my father’s office inspires a strange mix of trepidation and awe. The room is brimming with the history of all the men and women who’ve come before us. It’s the most impressive room in the palace. In every corner lies a story, an artifact, a piece of our family history, which is, in fact, the history of the island itself. The full weight of the monarchy sits on my shoulders whenever I enter.

Rarely have I been called in here for anything routine. Instead, I’ve been scolded, told to step up, or commanded to take on a role I wasn’t sure I wanted. Which of those will it be today?

On his desk is the front page of the Bellerive National. I’d make a joke about anyone still buying physical papers, but we’re royals, the last bastions of the status quo and tradition. It would be weird if we didn’t buy papers, wouldn’t it?

“I see you’ve caught a glimpse of the happy news,” I say, tapping a finger on the photo of Jules and me on the front page. Not sure he’ll be delighted to hear I’m the one who leaked this particular story. I recognize the photo from my camera roll, and the guy who wrote it is an old friend from high school. Since none of that will weigh in my favor, and I can’t remember why I would have thought a social media onslaught was the best way to announce our startling decision, I’m going to keep quiet.

“Ah, yes. The happy news. Shame I didn’t hear about it from my son or my secretary.” He eyes me across the desk, and the older I get the more I see myself in him. He’s giving me his best unimpressed look.

“Sometimes you just can’t keep a good story down. You know how it is.” I shrug. Inside anxiety swirls. This conversation could go so many ways, I’ve lost count of them all. Will he insist on an annulment? A statement about how Jules and I made a foolish mistake? We haven’t even talked about whether we made a foolish mistake.

My father huffs in exasperation. “You can always keep a good story down. I’ve done it several times.” He pauses for maximum weight, and our gazes lock. “For you.”

I swallow. There are few things I dislike more than disappointing my father. For a while, I didn’t care who I let down, but I got over myself around the time I exited college. Me with wild American girls was the lead on the gossip sites every year of my degree in international politics. On top of the college girls, a few equally famous actresses and models were thrown in for good measure. Variety and poor decisions were the spices of my life. I’m surprised Bellerive didn’t disown me.

As Robbie so kindly pointed out in Tanzania, I put food on writers’ tables. Would my father be proud to know I’ve done it again? Supporting the local economy. I’ll count it as a win—silently.